


the luck of the draw

by peachpety



Series: Autumn Drarry Drabbles [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Autumn Drarry Drabbles, Lucky Hoodie, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpety/pseuds/peachpety
Summary: Harry finds a hoodie that brings him luck.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Autumn Drarry Drabbles [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956262
Comments: 19
Kudos: 197





	the luck of the draw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysticKitten42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticKitten42/gifts).



> Day 23 of Autumn Drarry Drabbles, y'all! The prompt is _"It’s my lucky hoodie, I’ll tell you why if you buy me a drink,"_ as requested by the wonderfully sweet MysticKitten42. I had to think long and hard about this one, m'dear. I hope I've done it justice. LOVES. And a thanks to toluene helping me iron out the kinks! Enjoy! xo peach

_“You lost it?”_ Ron laments. 

Harry shrugs, and Ron stares at him, mouth agog. From Ron’s arms, baby Rose squeals and sticks her fingers into Ron’s mouth, giggling at his wiggly tongue. “How can you be so cavalier about it?” he asks, incredulous.

“The hoodie will come back to me,” Harry says. 

He hasn’t the heart to tell Ron that he knows exactly what happened to the hoodie 3 months prior, on his birthday to be exact, the night Rose was born.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Ron nods and bounces Rose on his hip.

Ron has a theory about the hoodie. 

_It’s wicked lucky,_ he tells anyone who will listen. _As if magic has been imbued into its fibers!_

And then Hermione rolls her eyes and embarks on a monologue about luck and fate, about the development of events outside a person’s control driven by a supernatural power. _Or maybe,_ she adds, _by karma._ Not _by a lucky hoodie._

Hermione loftily turns a page of her magazine. “If it’s so lucky,” she says, “how could Harry have lost it?”

Ron pauses mid-bounce. Rosie squeals and kicks her legs. “Maybe something magical is at work,” he says, eyes widening.

“Magic and luck,” Hermione scoffs. “It’s just a hoodie.”

“Rosie is our proof of the magical power of the lucky hoodie!” Ron lifts Rose to sniff at her bum, blanching. “Ugh, I wish I could magically vanish this stench.”

“Need I remind you about how babies are conceived, Ronald?”

Ron wiggles his eyebrows. “When Rosie’s down for her nap, you may.”

“Yeah, on that note,” Harry says, shrugging into his jacket. “I’m off to that new record shop.”

* * *

Call it providence, or karma, or _magic,_ but the hoodie was undeniably lucky.

Harry found it in a Paris thrift shop after uni graduation, when the sweltering summer days had faded into the introspective ambers of fall, on a brisk October day, not unlike the one Harry now walks through on his way to the record shop, coffee in hand. 

That day in Paris, as soon as Harry’s fingers had touched the soft garment he knew he had to possess it. Hermione had wrinkled her nose at the odor, suggesting that the only thing possessing it was the spirit of the body that had died in it. Ron snatched it up, affronted, and purchased it, gifting it to Harry — its luck already evident.

And Harry’s luck hadn’t ended there.

That afternoon he found 85 Euro on the pavement waiting for the Paris Métro. 

At the Louvre, the crowd in front of the _Mona Lisa_ thinned and dispersed at the exact moment the trio arrived, giving them an unobstructed view of that infamous smirk. 

Its luck wasn’t reserved only for himself, either. Ron remained convinced that the night Rose was conceived was the night Hermione had worn Harry’s hoodie against the chill blowing off the Seine.

On the return Eurostar home, Harry had been bumped to Business Premier, much to Ron and Hermione’s chagrin. An altercation ensued when the most fit bloke Harry had ever seen in his life, all trim and lean and blond in a Burberry coat insisted that Harry was in his seat. They ended up chatting about everything and nothing, eating gummy bears as the train rocketed through the Channel Tunnel. 

Before they disembarked, the bloke insulted Harry’s hair and his hoodie and stole Harry’s candy.

He left before Harry could get his name or number.

* * *

After the hoodie proved its worth in Paris, Harry wore it constantly. So much, in fact, that Hermione had to put her pregnancy-swollen foot down about Harry wearing it New Year’s Eve. The hoodie had secured them an invitation to a posh New Year’s Eve bash after Harry had found and returned the wallet of a popular DJ. Harry wasn’t about to snub the hoodie in favor of a suit. 

Drunk on champagne and the exuberance of the countdown, Harry was more than happy to kiss the bloke who grabbed him to welcome in the new year. He melted into the warmth of soft lips, heart levitating in his chest, surrounded by a familiar spicy scent he’d searched for, sniffing every bottle of cologne and tub of body wash he could get his hands on ever since the train ride underneath the channel.

As the balloons and confetti rained down, the bloke insulted Harry’s hair and his hoodie and stole Harry’s breath.

He left before Harry could get his name and number.

* * *

That summer, Harry had been happy enough to forgo a big birthday bash. Hermione was a week past her due date and was not in any mood to suffer people in large crowds. Harry chose a new route home, trusting his luck, and stopped at a pub for a celebratory birthday pint. The bartender had set down a second pint, courtesy of the bloke at the end of the bar, trim and lean and gorgeous.

Harry crowded the bloke against the bathroom door and snogged him breathless. Hands roamed and grabbed, rucking up shirts to expose hot pale skin. Harry had been so lost in a rhythmic grind, body aflame, drowning in hooded grey eyes that he had nearly missed Ron’s 999 ringtone.

Hermione was in labor. 

Harry left before he could get the bloke’s name and number.

He also left the hoodie.

* * *

The autumn air penetrates Harry’s jumper and he zips up his jacket against the chill, finally arriving at his destination.

A bell chimes as he enters the record shop, a vibration that resonates comfortably in his inner ear. The Rolling Stones croon over the speakers and a fat white cat is curled on a velvet pillow in a patch of sun by the window. There’s a buzz in the air, a current of magic. 

Harry smiles.

Standing at a basin flipping through vinyls is the most gorgeous bloke Harry’s ever seen in his life, trim and lean… and wearing his hoodie.

The bloke looks up when Harry approaches, grey eyes crinkling with recognition. “Hi,” he says.

“You stole my candy, my breath and my hoodie,” Harry says. 

The bloke laughs and Harry feels it in his fingertips. “I suppose you want it back?”

“Well,” Harry says. **“It’s my** **lucky** **hoodie.”**

The bloke raises a perfectly manicured brow. 

Harry grins. **“I’ll tell you why if you buy me a drink.”**

**Author's Note:**

> Find me indulgently lurking on [tumblr](http://peachpety.tumblr.com/).


End file.
